


How to Drown Your Feelings in Five Easy Pints

by lyriumlovesong



Series: The Rabbit and The Lion [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BFFs, Cassandra Pentaghast is a good friend, Cassandra and Cullen are my BroTP, Cullen Angst, Cullen Rutherford & Cassandra Pantaghast Friendship, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Feelings, Freya loves dares, Herald's Rest, Mentioned Varric Tethras, Tavern Songs, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumlovesong/pseuds/lyriumlovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen has poor coping mechanisms. Fortunately, his best friend stayed home this time. (Because the world needs more Cassie/Cullen friendship stories.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Drown Your Feelings in Five Easy Pints

Flickering firelight bounced off Cullen’s silver tankard as he took a long drink of ale. The Herald’s Rest was quiet, all their most frequent customers on a long journey away from Skyhold. The only noise in the tavern was the minstrel’s song, floating to him from across the room.

 

 _I feel sun  
_ _through the ashes in the sky.  
_ _Where’s the one  
_ _who will guide us into the night?  
_ _What’s begun  
_ _is the war that will force this divide.  
_ _What’s to come  
_ _is fire and the end of time._

 

“Andraste’s tits,” he grumbled into his drink. “Does she have to sing _that_ one right now?”

A cold blast of air blew through the room as the door to the courtyard opened and closed.

“Drinking alone, Commander? That’s never a good sign.”

Cassandra Pentaghast sidled up to the bar. She flagged Cabot, the bartender, for a pint of her own. “How many have you had?” she asked Cullen.

“I don’t see how that’s your business.”

“That one’s number four, Lady Seeker,” called Cabot, and Cullen shot him an angry glare. Cassandra leaned an elbow on the bar, looking at her friend.

“Racing to the bottom of Cabot’s keg isn’t going to make them come back any faster,” she said quietly.

“Oh, shit, I thought he’d tapped the magic Inquisitor-summoning barrel,” he said, waving his hands, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank the Maker you caught me in time.”

Cassandra sighed and pulled up a stool as Cabot delivered her drink. She nodded her thanks to him, then turned to face Cullen again.

“You want to talk about it, or just get more drunk?” she asked. Cullen silently drained the rest of his tankard and waved it at the barkeep, who took it and filled it to the brim again. The Seeker watched him, frowning. “How well do you think you can lead the troops tomorrow if you’re hung over?”

“How well can I lead them right now anyway?” he asked gloomily. “I’m not sleeping. The headaches have been getting worse. I’m a pretty poor excuse for a Commander at the moment.”

“And four pints of ale is going to fix your withdrawal symptoms?”

“Probably not. But five might. In for a copper, in for a sovereign.”

Cassandra looked into her drink, swirling the amber liquid around thoughtfully.

“This isn’t just about the lyrium, Cullen,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re framing this all as if you’re just frustrated about your addiction getting the better of you, but that’s not what this is.”

Cullen turned.

“So what’s it about, then?” he asked defensively. "Go on, you seem to have it all figured out."

“It’s okay for you to just be _sad,_ ” she said, shrugging. “It’s okay to admit that you’re worried for her, and you miss her when she’s gone, and the withdrawal isn’t so bad when she can hold you through it. It’s okay to admit that some days it’s all just too much, and it makes you want to sink into the bottom of a tankard and not come out until you’re too drunk to feel anymore.”

He took a long drink, wiping foam off his lips with the back of his hand.

“Leave it to a fucking Seeker,” he growled, scowling.

“Cullen,” scoffed Cassandra, looking frustrated. “You’re a _human being_ , not a golem. People expect you to have feelings, it's not--”

“This is _rich_ , you know?" he interrupted, "Coming from the Ice Queen herself.”

“That’s unfair.” Cassandra looked genuinely hurt, and Cullen felt a pang of shame. She shook her head. “Everyone falls apart sometimes, Cullen. Some of us just prefer to do it alone in our rooms, instead of in the tavern in front of the Maker and everybody.”

Cullen squeezed the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, Cass. That was uncalled for.”

“Yes," she said curtly. "It was.”

They were quiet for a moment, the minstrel’s guitar still playing softly in the background. Then Cullen spoke up again, studying the wood grain on the bar.

“You’re right. I _am_ sad. I _do_ miss her. Her chambers are too big and too quiet without her. This whole _keep_  is too big and too quiet without her.”

“I know what you mean,” said Cassandra, a soft smile curling her lips. “She does fill up the place, doesn’t she?”

“Remember that time she rode Flapjack right into the main hall?” Cullen asked, his eyes twinkling as he looked up, reminiscing. “And you asked her what the hell she was doing, and she just shrugged and said, ‘Varric bet me I wouldn’t. He owes me a sovereign.’ Some dignitary was due to arrive any minute, and Josie almost murdered them both.”

They laughed, remembering the look on Josephine’s face at seeing the huge animal standing there in front of the throne like he owned the place.

“What kind of a name is Flapjack for an elk, anyway?” asked Cassandra, smirking.

“She said it was between that and Ser Prongs, High Hoof of the Herald of Andraste, Lord of the Skyhold Stables. And you _know_ good and well she’d have insisted we all use his full title. She said she thought Flapjack was less of a mouthful.”

She chuckled.

“She’s not wrong there.”

Cullen smiled.

“Two more weeks,” he said, cupping the cold metal of the tankard between his hands. “I just have to get through two more weeks before I see her again.”

He drained the rest of his beer, then stood, stretching his back.

“Let me get these tonight,” said Cassandra, standing and putting a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. She threw a pile of silver coins onto the bar. “You should get some rest, try to sleep off some of this ale.”

“I’m not ready to go back to that big empty bedroom just yet,” he replied. “You up for a little practice? Swinging my blade always helps get me out of my own head.”

“It’s almost dark, and it’s freezing cold outside,” she said, wrinkling her brow. “And you’re _drunk._ ”

“Still probably going to beat you,” Cullen said, shrugging. Cassandra narrowed her eyes.

“Fine,” she said. “You’re on.”

As they walked together out of the tavern, the minstrel’s voice followed them through the door.

 

 _Once we sat  
_ _in the light of our dreams._  
 _Once we were  
_ _in our homeland,  
_ _with strength and might.  
_ _Once we were  
_ _not afraid of the night._

 

Cullen turned in the doorway, rolling his eyes.

“Fade take you, Maryden!" he spat, "Did they not teach you any _happy_ songs at minstrel school?”

The bard dropped her hand from her lute, staring at him open-mouthed as Cabot snorted behind the bar, and the Commander walked out, shaking his head.

“And _that_ is why I left a good tip,” said Cassandra apologetically. “Goodnight, you two.”

And she closed the door behind her.


End file.
